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SLY   BALLADES    IN    HARVARD 
CHINA 

BY    E.    S.    M. 


BOSTON 

A.  WILLIAMS   AND   COMPANY 

OLD  CORNER  BOOKSTORE 
1882 


Copyright,  18S2, 
Br  A.  WILLIAMS  &  CO. 


RIVERSIDE,   CAMBRIDGE  : 

ELECTROTY PE D    AND    PRIMED    BY 
II.    0.    IIOUGHION   AND   COMPANY. 


CONTENTS. 


MIXED     

ONLY. 6 

PROCUL  NEGOTIIS 7 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  BLOOD ••_••• 

THE  LOAFER'S  LAMENT n 

JILTED *2 

BROKE,  BROKE,  BROKE  !    .     . 15 

REFORM 1( 

A  GUM  GAME 20 

FUIT  ILIUM 22 

EPITHALAMIUM 2 

AGAIN 30 

qo 

SNOWBOUND 

To  MABEL 

MEA  CULPA 39 

A  MORTIFYING  SUBJECT        44 

IN  THE  ELYSIAN  FIELDS 47 


iv  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

A  SECOND  THOUGHT 50 

A  PRACTICAL  QUESTION 52 

ET  Tu,  BEKGHE  ? 53 

INSOMNIA .     .  54 

CIVIL  SERVICE .     .     .  56 

ALL  OR  NOTHING .  59 

A  PHILADELPHIA  CLAVEKHOUSE 61 

THROWING  STONES 63 

TOUCHING  BOTTOM 68 

HONI  SOIT  Qui  MAI.  Y  PENSE .  72 

His  WASHERWOMAN  ....  .76 


MIXED. 

WITHIN  my  earthly  temple  there  's  a  crowd : 
There  's  one  of  us  that  's  humble,  one  that  's  proud  ; 
There  's  one  that  's  broken-hearted  for  his  sins, 
And  one  who,  unrepentant,  sits  and  grins  ; 
There  's  one  who  loves  his  neighbor  as  himself, 
And  one  who  cares  for  naught  but  fame  and  pelf. 
From  much  corroding  care  I  should  be  free 
If  once  I  could  determine  which  is  Me. 


ONLY. 

ONLY  a  small  bit  of  paper, 
With  just  a  few  dates,  —  nothing  more, — 
Which  at  an  unfortunate  moment 
Glides  down  from  my  sleeve  to  the  floor. 

Only  an  Argus-eyed  proctor, 

WTho,  ever  upon  the  qui  vive, 

Picks  up,  with  suppressed  exultation, 

The  paper  which  dropped  from  my  sleeve. 

Only  four  months  in  the  country,  — 
An  extra  vacation,  that  's  all ; 
But  the  trade  of  a  proctor  still  strikes  me 
As  something  exceedingly  small. 


^pRpc^LWeeoK 

THINK  that  if  I  had  a  farm 
I  'd  be  a  man  of  sense  ; 
And  if  the  day  was  bright  and  warm 
I  'd  sit  upon  the  fence, 
And  calmly  smoke  a  pensive  pipe, 
And  think  about  my  pigs, 
And  wonder  if  the  corn  was  ripe, 
And  counsel  Vhomme  qui  digs. 


PROCUL   NEGOT1IS. 

And  if  the  day  was  wet  and  cold, 
I  think  I  should  admire 
To  sit  and  dawdle  over  old 
Montaigne,  before  the  fire  ; 
And  pity  boobies  who  could  lie 
And  squabble,  just  for  pelf, 
And  thank  my  lucky  stars  that  I 
Was  nicely  fixed  myself. 


THE   SONG  OF   THE   BLOOD. 

SOME  like  upon  the  winding  Charles 

To  ply  the  bending  oar ; 

Nor  reck  they  if  their  backs  are  burned 

And  every  muscle  sore. 

But  as  for  me,  it  suits  me  not : 

I  '11  ever  be  content 

To  loaf  in  front  of  Hoi  worthy, 

And  toss  the  shining  cent. 

Some  like  to  hurl  the  pig-skin  sphere 

Ofttimes  on  Jarvis  field  ; 

Nor  ask  a  greater  pleasure  than 

The  willow  bat  to  wield. 

But  as  for  me,  it  suits  me  best, 

With  calm,  unruffled  mien, 

To  loaf  in  front  of  Holworthy, 

And  gamble  on  the  green. 


10  THE   SONG   OF   THE  BLOOD. 

Some  like  to  grind  the  livelong  day, 
And  think  it  is  immense 
To  study  for  their  annuals, 
And  take  in  large  per  cents  ; 
But  as  for  me,  oh,  give  me  rest, 
And  let  me,  free  from  care, 
Sit  on  the  steps  of  Hoi  worthy, 
And  take  the  evening  air ! 


THE   LOAFER'S   LAMENT. 

MY  heated  brain  is  burning, 
My  soul  for  rest  is  yearning, 
Speak  to  me  not  concerning 

My  duties  as  a  grind  : 
But  bring  the  cooling  tankard 
For  which  I  long  have  hankered 
When  at  my  side  it  's  anchored 

I  '11  consolation  find. 

Fair  Idleness,  thou  devil ! 
Thou  charming  sprite  of  evil  ! 
How  in  thy  charms  I  '11  revel 

When  my  degree  is  won  ! 
But  if  to-day  I  woo  thee, 
To-morrow  I  shall  rue  thee, 
With  longing  eyes  I  view  thee, 

While  yet  thy  spells  I  shun. 


JILTED. 

Stay  me  with  flagons,  .  .  .  for  I  am  sick  of  love.  —  CANT.  11.  5. 

To  seem  gay  and  youthful  I  'm  trying, 
But  my  heart  is  as  old  as  the  hills, 
And  I  feel  that  those  parties  are  lying 
Who  tell  me  that  grief  never  kills. 


JILTED.  13 

My  story  has  oft  been  related ; 
I  fit  in  an  old,  old  groove, 
Since  never,  as  some  one  has  stated, 
The  course  of  true  love  ran  smooth. 

Susceptible,  young,  and  romantic, 

I  thought  her  an  angel  of  light ; 

And  still,  save  when  grief  makes  me  frantic, 

I  firmly  believe  I  was  right. 

An  angel  she  was,  but  the  healing 
She  bore  on  her  wings  was  a  part 
Of  the  means  that  she  used  for  annealin^ 

O 

Another  young  man's  broken  heart. 

And  that  's  why  I  say,   "  Bring  on  flagons, 
And  place  them  convenient  for  me  !  " 
'T  is  not  that  I  wish  to  see  dragons 
And  snakes,  as  we  do  in  "  D.  T." 


14  JILTED. 

No,  no :  't  is  because  I  would  quiet 
This  sorrow  to  which  I  am  linked  ; 
While  fancy,  unshackled,  runs  riot, 
And  memories  grow  indistinct. 

Let  me  cherish  once  more  the  delusion 
That  girls  are  as  true  as  they  seem, 
And,  during  my  mental  confusion, 
Imagine  it  all  was  a  dream. 


BROKE,   BROKE,   BROKE  ! 

BROKE,  broke,  broke  ! 
I  have  squandered  the  uttermost  sou, 
And  have  failed  in  my  efforts  to  utter 
One  trivial,  last  I.  O.  U. 

Oh,  well  for  the  infant  in  arms 
That  for  ducats  he  need  not  fret ; 
Oh,  well  for  the  placid  corpse 
That  he  's  settled  his  final  debt. 

And  dun  after  dun  comes  in, 

Each  bringing  his  little  account  ; 

And  oh  for  the  touch  of  a  five-dollar  bill, 

Or  a  check  for  a  large  amount ! 


16  BROKE,   BROKE,   BROKE! 

Broke,  broke,  broke  ! 

My  course  as  a  student  is  run  ; 

I  '11  back  to  my  childhood's  home,  and  act 

The  i-61e  of  the  Prodigal  Son. 


REFORM. 

YES,  I  know  that  I  once  was  a  bummer, 
The  laziest  drone  of  the  swarm ; 
But  I  tell  you  I  started  last  summer 
The  glorious  work  of  reform. 

As  Freshman  I  swallowed  my  bitters, 
And  thought  that  I  cut  quite  a  dash ; 
A  Soph'more  I  raised  endless  litters 
Of  pups,  and  a  feeble  mustache ; 

A  Junior,  —  how  oft  the  Dean's  letter 
Made  the  hearts  of  my  parents  feel  sore  ! 
I  was  young  then,  but  now  I  know  better, 
I  '11  never  do  so  any  more. 
2 


18  REFORM. 

Don't  speak  of  the  bliss  of  potation, 
Don't  tell  me  that  lager  is  cheap  : 
Don't  hint  that  I  need  recreation, 
Nor  doubt  if  I  get  enough  sleep. 

Ere  I  spend  it  I  look  at  each  nickel 
With  fond,  parsimonious  care; 
P'r'aps  you  notice  how  Time's  ruthless  sickle 
lias  shortened  the  trousers  I  wear ! 

Am  I  thin?     Quite  correct  your  conjecture. 
Memorial  Hall  is  the  place  : 
We  breakfast  upon  architecture, 
For  luncheon  we  merely  say  grace. 

While  you,  sir,  are  placidly  sleeping 
The  sleep  of  the  thoughtless  and  free, 
A  studious  party  is  keeping 
A  vigil  in  my  room  :  That 's  me. 


REFORM.  19 

I  know  that  they  were  evanescent, 
My  many  reforms  of  the  past ; 
But  I  feel  myself  certain,  at  present, 
That  this  one  is  going  to  last. 


.How  sweet,  while   lingering   near   a 

cross-walk  muddy, 
When  Sol  in  March  dissolves  the  tardy  snows, 
To  lose  one's  self  in  contemplative  study ! 
Of  symmetry  which  gathered  skirts  disclose ! 


A    GUM  GAME.  21 

But  how  disheartening  when,  to  optics  eager 
To  glean  of  patient  watchfulness  the  fruits, 
The  petticoat,  soil  scorning,  grants  a  meagre 
Display  of  dingy,  shapeless  rubber  boots  ! 


FUIT   ILIUM. 

WERE  you  nurtured  in  the  purple  ? 
Were  you  reared  a  pampered  pet  ? 
Did  a  menial  throng  encircle 
You,  in  waiting  while  you  ate? 
When  a  baby,  had  you  lockets, 
Silver  cups  and  forks  and  spoons  ? 
Were  there  coins  in  the  pockets 
Of  your  childhood's  pantaloons  ? 

Did  hereditary  shekels 

Make  your  sweethearts  deem  you  fair, 

Reconcile  them  to  your  freckles 

And  your  carrot-colored  hair  ? 

In  electrifying  raiment 

Were  you  every  day  attired  ? 

Was  the  promptness  of  your  payment 

Universally  admired  ? 


FUIT  ILIUM.  23 

Did  your  father,  too  confiding, 
Sign  the  paper  of  his  friends  ? 
Did  his  railway-stock,  subsiding, 
Cease  to  pay  him  dividends? 
Are  his  buildings  slow  in  renting  ? 
Did  his  banker  pilfer,  slope, 
And,  absconding,  leave  lamenting 
Creditors  to  live  on  hope  ? 

Ere  you  dissipate  a  quarter 

Do  you  scrutinize  it  twice  ? 

Have  you  ceased  to  look    on  water 

Drinking  as  a  nauseous  vice? 

Do  you  wear  your  brother's  breeches, 

Though  the  buttons  scarcely  meet? 

Does  the  vanity  of  riches 

Form  no  part  of  your  conceit? 

I  am  with  you,  fellow  pauper ! 
Let  us  share  our  scanty  crust ; 


24  FUIT  ILIUM. 

Burst  the  bonds  of  fiscal  torpor, 
Go  where  beer  is  sold  on  trust. 
Let  us,  freed  from  res  angustce, 
Seek  some  fair  Utopian  mead, 
Where  the  throat  is  never  dusty, 
And  tobacco  grows  —  a  weed. 


EPITHALAMIUM. 


J    •'-s^.'VX.-'* 


[HE    marriage-bells   have   rung 

peal, 

The  wedding-march  has  told  its  story; 
I  've  seen  her  at  the  altar  kneel 
In  all  her  stainless  virgin  glory; 
She  's  bound  to  honor,  love,  obey, 
Come  joy  or  sorrow,  tears  or  laughter. 
I  watched  her  as  she  rode  away, 
And  flung  the  lucky  slipper  after. 


( 

their 


26  EPITHALAMIUM. 

She  was  my  first,  my  very  first, 

My  earliest  inamorata; 

And  to  the  passion  that  I  nursed 

For  her  I  almost  was  a  martyr. 

For  I  was  young,  and  she  was  fair, 

And  always  bright  and  gay  and  chipper ; 

And  oh,  she  wore  such  pretty  hair! 

Such  silken  stockings !     Such  a  slipper  ! 

She  did  not  wish  to  make  me  mourn,  — 
She  was  the  kindest  of  God's  creatures ; 
But  flirting  was  in  her  inborn, 
Like  brains  and  queerness  in  the  Beechers. 
I  do  not  fear  your  heartless  flirt,  — 
Obtuse  her  dart  and  dull  her  probe  is ; 
But  when  girls  do  not  mean  to  hurt, 
But  do.  —  Orate  tune  pro  nobis  ! 

A  most  romantic  country  place  ; 

The  moon  at  full,  the  month  of  August  ; 


EPITHALAMIUM.  27 

An  inland  lake,  across  whose  face 
Played  gentla  zephyrs,  ne'er  a  raw  gust  ; 
Books,  boats,  and  horses,  to  enjoy 
The  which  was  all  our  occupation, 
A  damsel  and  a  callow  boy;  — 
There  !     Now  you  have  the  situation. 

We  rode  together  miles  and  miles  ; 
My  pupil  she,  and  I  her  Chiron. 
At  home  I  reveled  in  her  smiles, 
And  read  her  extracts  out  of  Byron. 
We  roamed  by  moonlight,  chose  our  stars 
(I  thought  it  most  authentic  billing), 
Explored  the  woods,  climbed  over  bars, 
Smoked  cigarettes,  and  broke  a  shilling. 

An  infinitely  blissful  week 

Went  by  in  this  Arcadian  fashion  : 

I  hesitated  long  to  speak, 

But  ultimately  breathed  my  passion. 


28  EPl  THA  L  A  MIUM. 

She  said  her  heart  was  not  her  own  ; 
She  said  she  'd  love  me  like  a  sister ; 
She  cried  a  little  (not  alone)  ; 
I  told  her  not  to  fret,  and  —  kissed  her. 

I  lost  some  sleep,  some  pounds  in  weight, 

A  deal  of  time,  and  all  my  spirits  ; 

And  much  —  how  much  I  dare  not  state  — • 

I  mused  upon  that  damsel's  merits. 

I  tortured  my  unhappy  soul ; 

I  wished  I  never  might  recover ; 

I  hoped  her  marriage-bells  might  toll 

A  requiem  for  her  faithful  lover. 

And  now  she  's  married  ;  now  she  wears 
A  wedding-ring  upon  her  finger  : 
And  I  —  although  it  odd  appears  — 
Still  in  the  flesh  I  seem  to  linger. 
Lo,  there  my  swallow-tail,  and  here 
Lies  by  my  side  a  wedding  favor  ; 


EPITHALAMIUM.  29 

Beside  it  stands  a  mug  of  beer ; 
I  taste  it, — how  divine  it  *s  flavor! 

I  saw  her,  in  her  bridal  dress, 

Stand  pure  and  lovely  at  the  altar ; 

I  heard  her  firm  response  —  that  "  Yes  " 

Without  a  quiver  or  a  falter. 

And  here  I  sit  and  drink  to  her 

Long  life  and  happiness,  God  bless  her! 

Now  fill  again  !     No  heel-taps,  sir ! 

Here  's  to  —  success  to  her  successor  ! 


AGAIN. 

I  WONDER  why  my  brow  is  burning, 

Why  sleep  to  close  my  lids  forgets ; 

I  wonder  why  I  have  a  yearning 

To  smoke  incessant  cigarettes. 

I  wonder  why  my  thoughts  will  wander, 

And  all  restraint  of  mine  defy, 

And  why  —  excuse  the  rhyme  —  a  gander 

Is  not  more  of  a  goose  than  I. 

I  have  an  indistinct  impression 
I  had  these  symptoms  once  before, 
And  dull  discomfort  held  possession 
Of  the  same  spot  that  now  is  sore  ; 
That  some  time,  in  a  past  that  ranges 
From  early  whiskers  up  to  bibs, 
My  heart  was  ringing  just  such  changes 
As  now,  against  these  self-same  ribs. 


AGAIN.  31 

I  wish  some  philanthropic  Jenner 
Might  vaccinate  against  these  ills, 
And  help  us  keep  our  noiseless  tenor 
Of  life  submissive  to  our  wills ; 
And,  ere  our  hearts  were  permeated 
With  sentiments  too  warm  by  half, 
That  we  might  be  inoculated 
With  the  mild  passion  of  a  calf. 


SNOWBOUND. 

A  Law  Office',  two  Briefless  Ones ;  a  Clock  strikes. 
JAMES. 

ONE,  two,  three,  four.     It  's  four  o'clock ; 
There  comes  the  postman  round  the  block, 
And  in  a  jiff  we'll  hear  his  knock 

Most  pleasant. 

Inform  me,  Thomas,  will  he  bring 
To  you,  deserving  no  such  thing, 
Letters  from  her  whose  praises  ring 

Incessant  ? 

THOMAS. 

Friend  of  my  bosom,  James,  refrain 
From  putting  questions  fraught  with  pain, 
And  seeking  facts  I  had  not  fain 
Imparted. 


SNOWBOUND.  33 

The  said  official  on  this  stretch 
Will  not,  in  my  opinion,  fetch 
Such  documents  to  me,  a  wretch 
Down  hearted. 

JAMES. 

Nay  ;  but  I  prithee,  Thomas,  tell 
To  me,  thy  friend,  who  loves  thee  well, 
What  cause  there  is  for  such  a  fell 

Deprival. 

Why  is  it  that  the  message  fails  ? 
Have  broken  ties,  or  twisted  rails, 
Or  storm,  or  snow  delayed  the  mail's 

Arrival  ? 

THOMAS. 

Thou  art,  O  James,  a  friend  indeed 
To  probe  my  wound  and  make  it  bleed: 
To  know  of  my  affairs  thy  greed 
Has  no  bound. 


34  SNOWBOUND. 

The  reason  why  you  have  not  guessed  ; 
If  storm  there  were,  'twas  in  her  breast; 
For  there  my  letter,  unexpressed, 
Lies  snowbound. 


TO  MABEL. 


Av- 


PON  this  anniversary 

My  little  god-child,  aged  three, 

These  compliments  I  make  to  thee, 

Quite  heedless. 

And  that  you'll  throw  them  now  away, 
But  treasure  them  some  future  day, 
Are  platitudes,  the  which  to  say 

Is  needless. 


36  TO  MABEL. 

You  small,  stout  damsel,  mickle  mou'd, 
With  cropped  tow-head  and  manners  rude, 
And  stormy  spirit  unsubdued 

By  nurses, 

Where  you  were  raised,  was  it  in  vogue 
To  lisp  that  Tipperary  brogue? 
Oh,  you  're  a  subject  sweet,  you  rogue, 

For  verses  I 

Last  Sunday  morning,  when  we  stayed 

At  home,  you  got  yourself  arrayed 

In  Lyman's  clothes,  and  turned  from  maid 

To  urchin  ; 

And  when  we  all  laughed  at  you  so 
You  eyed  outside  the  falling  snow, 
And  thought  your  rig  quite  fit  to  go 

To  church  in. 

Play  on !  play  on,  dear  little  lass  ! 
Play  on  till  sixteen  summers  pass, 


TO  MABEL,  37 

And  then  I  '11  bring  a  looking-glass, 

And  there  be- 
Fore  you,  on  your  lips,  I  '11  show 
The  curves  of  small  Dan  Cupid's  bow ; 
And  then  the  crop  that  now  is  "  tow " 

Shall  "fair"  be. 

And  then  I  '11  show  you,  too,  the  charms 
Of  small  firm  hands  and  rounded  arms, 
And  eyes  whose  flashes  send  alarms 

Right  through  you  ; 
And  then  a  half-regretful  sigh 
May  break  from  me  to  think  that  I, 
At  forty  years,  can  never  try 

To  woo  you, 

What  shall  I  wish  you  ?     Free  from  ruth 
To  live  and  learn  in  love  and  truth 
Through  childhood's  day  and  days  of  youth, 
And  school's  day ; 


TO  MABEL. 

For  all  the  days  that  intervene 
Twixt  Mab  at  three  and  at  nineteen 
Are  but  one  sombre  or  serene 
All  Fool's  Day. 


ME  A   CULPA. 

THERE  is  a  thing,  which,  in  my  brain 

Though  nightly  I  revolve  it, 

I  cannot  in  the  least  explain, 

Nor  do  I  hope  to  solve  it. 

While  others  tread  the  narrow  path, 

In  manner  meek  and  pious, 

Why  is  it  that  my  spirit  hath 

So  opposite  a  bias  ? 

Brought  up  to  fear  the  Lord,  and  dread 

The  bottomless  abysm, 

In  Watts's  hymns  profoundly  read, 

And  drilled  in  catechism, 

I  should  have  been  a  model  youth, 

The  pink  of  all  that  's  proper. 

I  was  not ;  but,  to  tell  the  truth, 

I  did  not  care  a  copper. 


40  MEA    CU-LPA. 

I  had  no  yearnings,  "when  a  boy, 
To  sport  an  angel's  wrapper, 
Nor  heard  I  with  tumultuous  joy 
The  church-frequenting  clapper. 
My  actions  always  harmonized 
With  my  own  sweet  volition  : 
I  always  did  what  I  devised, 
But  rarely  asked  permission. 

When  o'er  the  holy  book  I  'd  pore, 
And  read  of  doings  pristine, 
I  had  a  fellow-feeling  for 
The  put-upon  Philistine. 
King  David  gratified  my  taste,  — 
He  harped,  and  danced  boleros ; 
But  first  the  Prodigal  was  placed 
Upon  my  list  of  heroes. 

I  went  to  school.     To  study  ?     No  ! 
I  dearly  loved  to  dally 


ME  A    GULP  A.  41 

And  dawdle  over  Ivanhoe, 

Tom  Brown,  aiid  Charles  O'Mulley. 

In  recitation,  I  was  used 

To  halt  on  every  sentence  ; 

Repenting,  seldom  I  produced 

Fruits  proper  for  repentance. 

At  college,  later,  I  became 

Familiar  with  my  Flaccus ; 

Brought  incense  to  the  Muses'  flame, 

And  sacrificed  to  Bacchus. 

I  flourished  in  an  air  unfraught 

With  sanctity's  aroma ; 

Learned  many  things  I  was  not  taught, 

And  captured  a  diploma. 

I  am  not  well  provided  for, 
I  have  no  great  possessions ; 
I  do  not  like  the  legal  or 
Medicinal  professions. 


42  ME  A    GULP  A. 

Were  I  of  good  repute,  I  might 
Take  orders  as  a  deacon  ; 
But  I  'm  no  bright  and  shining  light, 
But  just  a  warning  beacon. 

Though  often  urged  by  friends  sincere 

To  woo  some  funded  houri, 

I  cannot  read  my  title  clear 

To  any  damsel's  dowry. 

And  could*  to  wedlock  I  induce 

An  heiress,  I  should  falter, 

For  fear  that  such  a  bridal  noose 

Might  prove  a  gilded  halter. 

My  tradesmen  have  suspicious  grown  ; 

My  friends  are  tired  of  giving  ; 

Upon  the  cold,  cold  world  I  'm  thrown, 

To  hammer  out  my  living. 

I  fear  that  work  before  me  lies : 

Indeed,  I  see  no  option, 


ME  A    CULPA.  43 

Unless,  perhaps,  I  advertise 
"  An  orphan  —  for  adoption  !  " 

A  legacy  of  misspent  time 

Is  all  that  I  'm  the  heir  to  ; 

I  cannot  make  my  life  sublime, 

However  much  I  care  to. 

And  if,  as  now,  I  turn  my  head 

In  retrospect  a  minute, 

'T  is  but  to  recognize  my  bed 

Before  I  lie  down  in  it. 

I  am  the  man  that  I  have  been, 
And  at  the  final  summing 
How  shall  I  bear  to  see  sent  in 
My  score,  —  one  long  shortcoming! 
Unless  when  all  the  saints  exclaim, 
With  righteous  wrath,  "  Peccavit  !  " 
Some  mighty  friend  shall  make  his  claim, 
"  He  suffered,  and  —  amavit !  " 


A  MORTIFYING  SUBJECT. 

WHAT  is  to  be,  I  do  not  know ; 

What  is,  I  do  esteem 

To  be  so  undesirable 

And  worthless  that  I  deem 

There  must  be  something  good  in  store, 

Something  to  keep  in  view, 

To  reconcile  us  living  here 

For  living  as  we  do. 

For  life,  —  oh  life,  it  seems  a  chore  ; 

Its  surface  is  so  blurred 

By  storms  of  passion  that  it  makes 

One  long  to  be  interred  ; 

To  occupy  a  tranquil  spot 

Some  seven  feet  by  two, 

And  just  serenely  lie  and  rot, 

With  nothing  else  to  do. 


A   MORTIFYING   SUBJECT.  45 

I  think  that  when  there  ceased  to  be 

Sufficient  tenement  , 

To  hold  my  conscience,  then  I  would 

Begin  to  be  content. 

And  if  I  should  be  there  to  see 

My  stomach  take  its  leave, 

I  'd  gather  up  my  mouldering  shroud 

And  chuckle  in  my  sleeve. 

I  think  that  when  the  greedy  worm 

Began  upon  my  brains,- 

I  'd  wish  him  luck,  and  hope  he  'd  get 

His  dinner  for  his  pains. 

I  'd  warn  him  that  they  would  be  apt 

With  him  to  disagree, 

For  if  they  fed  him  well,  't  were  what 

They  seldom  did  for  me. 

But  when  I  should  be  certain  that 
My  scarred  and  battered  heart 


46  A   MORTIFYING  SUBJECT. 

Was  of  my  corporality 

Not  any  more  a  part, 

Though  I  'd  no  voice,  I  'd  rattle  in 

My  throat  with  joyous  tones, 

And,  with  no  feelings  left,  I  would 

Feel  happy  in  my  bones. 


IN   THE   ELYSIAN  FIELDS. 

WHAT  I  you  here  ?     Why,  old  man,  I  never 

Felt  more  surprise,  or  more  delight. 

Who  would  have  dreamt  that  you  would  ever 

Parade  around  in  robes  of  white  ? 

I  always  thought  of  you  as  dodging 

The  coals  and  fire-brands  somewhere  else  ; 

And  here  you  are,  with  board  and  lodging, 

Where  not  so  much  as  butter  melts. 

Well,  well,  old  man,  if  you  can  stand  it 

Up  here,  I  '11  never  make  a  fuss. 

I  had  forebodings  that  they  'd  planned  it 

A  little  stiff  for  men  like  us. 

The  boys  were  much  cut  up  about  you, 

You  got  away  so  very  quick  ; 

And  as  for  me,  to  do  without  you  — 

It  absolutely  made  me  sick. 


48  AV   THE  ELY  SI  AN  FIELDS. 

I  wish  you  could  have  seen  us  plant  you, 
Why,  every  man  squeezed  out  a  tear. 
And  just  imagine  us,  —  now  can't  you  ?  — 
The  gang,  and  yours  the  only  bier  ! 
Fred  hammered  out  some  bully  verses ; 
We  had  them  printed  in  the  sheet, 
With  lines  funereal  as  hearses 
Around  them.     Oh,  it  did  look  sweet ! 

Halloo!     Is  that  Sir  Walter  Raleigh? 

I  wish  you  'd  point  the  people  out : 

I  want  to  look  at  Tom  Macaulay ; 

Is  Makepeace  anywhere  about? 

Where  's  Socrates  ?    Where  's  Sydney  Carton  ?- 

Oh,  —  I  forgot :  lie  was  a  myth. 

If  there  's  a  thing  I  've  set  my  heart  on, 

It  is  to  play  with  Sydney  Smith. 

What  ?     Glad  I  came  ?     I  am,  for  certain  ; 
The  other  's  a  malarious  hole ; 


IN   THE  ELYS! AN  FIELDS.  49 

I  always  pined  to  draw  the  curtain, 
And,  somehow,  knew  I  had  a  soul. 
The  flesh, — oh,  was  n't  it  a  fetter? 
You  'd  get  so  tired  of  all  your  schemes. 
But  here  I  think  I  '11  like  it  better ; 
Oh  dear,  how  natural  it  seems  ! 

4 


A  SECOND  THOUGHT. 

THIS  world  's  the  worst  I  ever  saw ; 
I  'd  like  to  make  it  better. 
I  'm  going  to  promulgate  the  law, 
And  hold  men  to  its  letter. 

Be  respectable,  and  stand 

Esteemed  of  Mrs.  Grundy  ; 

Attend  to  business  week-days,  and 

Read  moral  books  on  Sunday. 

On  Sabbath-keepers,  every  one, 
Approvingly  I  smile,  and 
Frown  on  those  who  spend  their  Sun- 
Days  down  at  Coney  Island. 

Don't  play  cards,  young  man  ;  Gobang 

Affords  amusement  ample. 

Speak  carefully,  eschewing  slang, 

And  set  a  good  example. 


A    SECOND    THOUGHT.  51 

The  theatres,  —  how  bad  they  be  ! 
The  players,  —  oh,  how  vicious! 
The  waltz  I  shudder  when  I  see, 
And  think  it  most  pernicious. 

Shun  the  wine-cup  :  don't  be  led 

To  drink  by  scoff  or  banter  ; 

In  the  cup  lurk  pains  of  head, 

And  snakes  in  the  decanter. 

Ah  me  !     I  wonder  if  I  'in  right ! 

o 

I  say  it  's  wrong  to  do  so, 

As  though,  without  a  soul  in  sight, 

I  ruled  alone,  like  Crusoe. 

Is  it  that  I  am  partly  wrong, 
And  partly  right,  my  neighbor, 
And  that  we  get,  who  toil  so  long, 
Half  truths  for  all  our  labor  ? 


A  PRACTICAL   QUESTION. 

DARKLY  the  humorist 
Muses  on  fate  ; 
Ghastly  experiment 
Life  seems  to  him  ; 
Subject  for  merriment 
Sombre  and  grim. 
Is  it  his  doom,  or  is  't 
Something  he  ate  ? 


ET  TU,   BERGHE  ! 

AND  art  them,  Bergh,  so  firmly  set 
Against  domestic  strife 
As  to  correct  with  stripes  the  man 
Who  disciplines  his  wife  ? 

Such  action  does  not  of  thy  creed 
Appear  the  normal  fruit : 
Thou  shouldst  befriend  a  being  who 
Behaves  so  like  a  brute  ! 


INSOMNIA. 

COME,  vagrant  sleep,  and  close  the  lid 
Upon  the  casket  of  my  thought ! 
Come,  truant,  come  when  thou  art  bid, 
And  let  thyself  be  caught! 

For  lonely  is  the  night,  and  still, 
And,  save  my  own,  no  breath  I  hear  ; 
No  other  mind,  no  other  will, 
Nor  heart,  nor  hand,  is  near. 

Thy  waywardness  what  prayer  can  move  ? 
Canst  thou  by  any  lure  be  brought  ? 


INSOMNIA.  55 

Or  art  thou,  then,  like  woman's  love, 
That  only  comes  unsought  ? 

Up!      Where  's   my   dressing-gown?      My  pipe    is 

here. 
Slumber  be  hanged  !     Now  for  a  book  and  beer. 


CIVIL   SERVICE. 

ON  Pennsylvania  Avenue 

He  stood  and  waited  for  a  ear ; 

He  turned  to  catch  a  parting  view 

Of  where  the  Public  Buildings  are. 

He  looked  at  them  with  thoughtful  eye; 

He  took  his  hat  from  off  his  head  ; 

He  heaved  a  half-regretful  sigh, 

And  thus  he  said  : 

"  My  relative,  I  do  the  bidding 
Of  Fate,  and  say  to  thee  good-by. 
I  think  thee  fortunate  at  ridding 
Thyself  of  such  a  clerk  as  I. 
Thy  sure  support,  though  somewhat  meagre, 
Hath  much  about  it  to  commend  ; 
Nor  am  I  now  so  passing  eager 
To  leave  so  provident  a  friend. 


CIVIL   SERVICE.  57 

"  Light  was  thy  yoke,  could  I  have  borne  it 
With  tranquil  mind  and  step  sedate : 
Why  did  my  feeble  shoulders  scorn  it, 
And  seem   to  crave  a  heavier  weight  ? 

O 

Extremely  blest  is  his  condition 
Whose  needs  thy  bounteous  hands  supply, 
If  he  but  fling  away  ambition, 
And  let  the  world  go  rushing  by. 

"  Indocilis  pauperiem  pati. 

I  must  get  out  of  this  damp  spot. 
Away  !  away  !     Whatever  fate  I 
May  have  in  store,  I  fear  it  not. 
Away  from  all  my  soul  despises, 
From  paltry  aims,  from  sordid  cares  ; 
Fame,  honor,  love,  time's  richest  prizes, 
Lie  waiting  for  the  man  who  dares. 

'•  The  man  who  calls  no  man  his  master, 
Nor  bows  his  head  to  tinsel  gods; 


58  CIVIL   SERVICE. 

Who  faces  debt,  disease,  disaster, 
And  never  murmurs  at  the  odds, 
Although  his  life  from  its  beginning 
Marks  only  fall  succeeding  fall,  — 
Let  him  fight  on,  and  trust  to  winning 
In  death  the  richest  prize  of  all." 

He  jammed  his  hat  down  on  his  head ; 
He  turned  from  where  the  Buildings  are ; 
Precipitately  thence  he  fled, 
And  caught  a  passing  car. 


ALL  OR  NOTHING. 

HAPPY  the  man  whose  far  remove 
From  business  and  the  giddy  throng 
Fits  him  in  the  paternal  groove 
Unquestioning  to  glide  along ; 
Apart  from  struggle  and  from  strife, 
Content  to  live  by  labor's  fruits, 
And  wander  down  the  vale  of  life 
In  gingham  shirt  and  cowhide  boots. 

He  too  is  blest  who,   from  within 
By  strong  and  lasting  impulse  stirred, 
Faces  the  turmoil  and  the  din 
Of  rushing  life  ;  whom  hope  deferred 
But  more  incites ;  who  ever  strives, 
And  wants,  and  works,  and  waits,  until 
The  multitude  of  other  lives 
Pay  glorious  tribute  to  his  will. 


60  ALL   OR   NOTHING. 

But  he  who,  greedy  of  renown, 
Is  too  tenacious  of  his  ease,  — 
Alas  for  him  !  Nor  busy  town 
Nor  country  with  his  mood  agrees. 
Eager  to  reap,  but  loath  to  sow, 
He  longs  monstrari  digito ; 
And  looking  on  with  envious  eyes, 
Lives  restless,  and  obscurely  dies. 


A   PHILADELPHIA   CLAVERHOUSE. 

To  the  fathers  in  council  't  was  Witherspoon  spoke 

"Our  best  beloved  dogmas  we  cannot  revoke. 

God's  infinite  mercy  let  others  record, 

And  teach  men  to  trust  in  their  crucified  Lord ; 

The  old  superstitions  let  others  dispel  ; 

I  feel  it  my  duty  to  go  in  for  hell. 

"  Perdition  is  needful ;  beyond  any  doubt 
Hell  fire  is  a  thing  that  we  can't  do  without. 
The  bottomless  pit  is  our  very  best  claim  ; 
To  leave  it  unworked  were  a  sin  and  a  shame : 
We  must  keep  it  up,  if  we  like  it,  or  not, 
And  make  it  eternal,  and  make  it  red  hot. 

"  To  others  the  doctrine  of  love  may  be  dear ; 
I  own  I  confide  in  the  doctrine  of  fear: 


62          A   PHILADELPHIA    CLAVERHOUSE. 

There 's  nothing,  I  think,  so  effective  to  make 
Our  weak  fellow-creatures  their  errors  forsake, 
As  to  tell  them  abruptly,  with   unchanging  front, 
'  You  '11  be  damned  if  you  do  !     You  '11  be  damned 
if  you  don't !  ' 

"Saltpetre  and  pitchforks,  with  brimstone  and  coals 

Are  arguments  suited  to  rescue  men's  souls. 

A  new  generation  forthwith  must  arise, 

With  Beelzebub  pictured  before  their  young  eyes: 

They  '11    be    brave ,    they  '11    be    true,    they  '11    be 

gentle  and  kind, 
Because  they  have  Satan  forever  in  mind." 


THROWING   STONES. 

"I  LOVE  my  child,"  the  actress  wrote. 

"  My  duty  is  to  guide 
The  child  I  bore,  and  in  my  arms 
The  child  I  love,  shall  hide: 
Shall  hide  from  missiles  cast  at  me, 
Because  I  have  so  odd 
A  conscience  that  I  choose  to  rear 
The  child  I  took  from  God." 

There  is  a  sin  from  which  us  all 

May  gracious  Heaven  guard  ; 

Which  is  its  own  worst  punishment, 

Itself  its  sole  reward. 

And  of  it  social  law  has  said 

To  man,    "  If  sin  you  must, 


THR  0  WING  S  TONES. 

Go,  then  !    And  come  again,  but  leave 
The  woman  in  the  dust !  " 

Ah  !    who  can  know,  save  Him  Allwise 

Who  watches  from  above, 

The  awful  hazard  women  dare 

To  run  for  men  they  love? 

Or  tell  how  many  a  craven  heart, 

To  shield  his  own  bad  name, 

Has  caused  a  woman's  trustful  love 

To  bring  her  lasting  shame? 

To  her  who,  when  the  dream  has  passed, 

Finds  herself  left  alone, 

And  in  her  crushed,  repentant  heart 

A  yearning  to  atone. 

Heaven,  more  merciful  than  man, 

Who  erst  upon  her  smiled, 

By  love  to  win  her  to  itself 

May  send  a  little  child. 


THROWING   STONES.  65 

Then,  if  the  lonely  mother's  heart 
Accepts  the  gracious  gift, 
And  if  the  charge  she  dared  to  take 
She  does  not  dare  to  shift ; 
Shall  we,  un tempted  and  untried, 
To  ease  and  virtue  born, 
Visit  upon  her  shrinking  head 
Our  unrelenting  scorn  ? 

We,  who  have  all  our  lives  been  taught 

Truths  other  men  have  learned, 

And  walked  by  what  celestial  light 

In  other  bosoms  burned  ; 

We,  whose  sublimest  duty  is 

To  do  as  we  are  bid,  — 

How  shall  we  judge  a  soul  from  which 

The  face  of  God  is  hid? 

Know  you  the  loneliness  of  heart 
That  courts  release  from  Death? 

5 


66  THROWING   STONES. 

That  makes  it  burdensome  to  draw 
Each  slow,  successive  breath  ? 
That  longs  for  human  sympathy, 
Until,  when  hope  is  lost, 
A  respite  from  its  agony- 
It  buys  at  any  cost  ? 

Of  erring  human  nature  we 
Are  born  each  with  his  share  : 
We  all  are  vain ;  we  all  are  weak, 
And  quick  to  fly  from  care ; 
And  if  we  keep  our  footing, 
Or  seem  to  rise  at  all, 
'T  were  well  for  us  with  charity 
To  look  on  those  who  fall. 

And  if  our  hands  are  strengthened, 
And  if  our  lips  can  speak, 
'T  were  well  if  with  them  we  might  help 
Our  brothers  who  are  weak; 


THROWING   STONES.  67 

And  well  if  we  remember 
God's  love  is  never  grudged, 
And  never  sit  in  judgment, 
If  we  would  not  be  judged. 


THINK  that  I  have  somewhere  read 
About  a  man,  whose  foolish  head, 
By  mischievous  intention  led, 

A  sprite 

Had  with  an  ass's  visage  decked, 
That  all  who  met  him  might  detect 
His  intellectual  defect 

At  sight. 


TOUCHING  BOTTOM.  69 

The  trite  remark  of  man  and  book, 
That  many  men  are  men  in  look, 
But  donkeys  really,  thus  the  spook 

Reversed. 

The  victim  of  the  imp's  design 
Had  such  a  head  as  yours  or  mine, 
Although  his  did  look  asinine 

At  first. 

But  Love  —  I  think  the  story  ran  — 
Was  proof  against  the  fairy's  plan, 
Discerning,  through  the  mask,  the  man, 

Perhaps ; 

Or  is  it  true  that  women  try 
But  very  faintly  to  descry 
Long  ears  on  heads  that  occupy 

Their  laps? 

I  know  a  youth  whose  fancy  gropes 
For  head-gear  finer  than  the  Pope's; 


70  TOUCHING  BOTTOM. 

So  him  his  bright  and  treacherous  hopes 

Delude. 

But  in  the  mirror  of  his  fears 
When  this  too  sanguine  person  peers, 
Alas!  behold  the  jackass  ears 

Protrude ! 

To  him  it  happens,  now  and  then, 
That    over  products  of  his  pen 
He  cackles,  as  o'er  eggs  the  hen 

Who  lays, 

To  find  that  to  another's  ear 
His  cherished  sentiments  appear, 
Not  utterances  strong  and  clear, 

But  brays. 

Titania  mine,  if  I  could  find 
You  ever  to  my  follies  blind, 
Such  deep  content  would  rule  my  mind 

Within 


TOUCHING  BOTTOM. 

That,  even  though  myself  aware 
Of  pointed  ears  adorned  with  hair, 
I  do  not  think  that  I  should  care 

A  pin. 


71 


HONI   SOIT   QUI  MAL  Y   PENSE. 

IT  was  my  happy  lot  to  meet, 

Upon  a  late  occasion, 

While  seeking  of  the  summer's  heat 

Agreeable  evasion, 

By  visiting  at  a  resort 

Of  fashion,  —  where,  no  matter, — 

A  maid  whom  there  was  none  to  court, 

And  very  few  to  flatter. 

Her  head  had  not  the  graceful  poise 

Of  Aphrodite's  statue; 

Her  hair  reminded  you  of  boys, 

Her  nose  was  pointed  at  you. 

A  Derby  hat,   the  self-same  sort 

The  fashionable  male  owes 

Money  for,  she  used  to  sport, 

As  angels  do  their  haloes. 


HONI  SOIT  QUI  MAL    Y  PENSE.  73 

She  seldom  walked  in  silk  attire, 

But  commonly  in  flannel ; 

Nor  yet  in  oils  did  she  aspire 

To  figure  on  a  panel : 

Because  she  could  not  help  but  see 

She  was  not  tall  nor  slender; 

Nor  did  she  deem  her  curves  to  be 

Superlatively  tender. 

Some  prudish  dames  did  her  abuse 
With  censure  fierce  and  scathing, 
Because  she,  happening  to  lose 
Her  stocking  while  in  bathing, 
Deemed  such  a  loss  of  little  note, 
And  made  no  fuss  about  it ; 
But  tied  the  stocking  round  her  throat, 
And  reappeared  without  it. 

I  do  not  think  that  for  the  pelf 
Of  eligible  boobies, 


74  HONI  SOIT   QUI  MAL    Y  PENSE. 

Or  for  the  chance  to  deck  herself 

With  diamonds  and  rubies, 

Or  for  her  standing  in  the  books 

Of  prim  and  proper  ladies, 

Or  for  their  disapproving  looks, 

She  cared  a  hoot  from  Hades. 

Though  competent  to  hold  her  tongue, 
When  circumstance  demanded 
Speech,  she  was,  for  one  so  young, 
Astonishingly  candid. 
She  sang  the  cheerfullest  of  songs, 
Which,  sung  by  her,  were  funny ; 
And  never  brooded  on  her  wrongs, 
Or  hoarded  up  her  money. 

'T  is  true,  this  careless  damsel's  fame 
At  last  grew  rather  shady, 
But  if  the  man  disposed  to  name 
Her  fast,  or  not  a  lady, 


HONI  SOIT  QUI  MAL    Y  PENSE.  75 

Permits  his  strictures  to  be  aired 
Where  I  can  overhaul  him, 
The  present  writer  is  prepared 
To  strict  account  to  call  him. 


"MY  laundress!  my  laundress!  she  causes  me  dis 
tress, 

And  woe,  and  anguish  infinite,  and  endless  bitter 
ness." 

'Twas  thus,  with  fingers  in  his  hair,  exclaimed  the 
Muse's  scion, 


HIS    WASHERWOMAN.  77 

And  gazed  upon  —  the  night  was  fair  —  Arcturus 
and  Orion. 

"  Her  bill  she  has  sent  in  to  me.  What  shall  my 
cares  dispel? 

For  how  to  pay  that  small  account  I  cannot,  can 
not  tell! 

"My  laundress!  my  laundress!    When  first  for  me 

she  washed, 
My  brow  was  smooth,  my  eye  was  clear,  my  soul 

was  unabashed ; 
And  when  she  came  to  get  my  clothes  my  manner 

was  urbane, 
And  I  looked  up  and  smiled,  and  asked  if  it  were 

going  to  rain; 
And  she  with  all  humility  her  eyes  to  mine  would 

raise, 
Then,  glancing  at  the  clouds,  would  murmur,  '  Yes, 

sor,  av  ye  plaze !' 


78  77/5    WASHERWOMAN. 

"  My  laundress !  my  laundress !  Her  ways  are  al 
tered  now, 

And  when  she  conies  for  clothes  she  comes  with 
scorn  upon  her  brow; 

With  eyes  downcast  upon  my  book,  I  sit  absorbed 
and  still, 

Until  she  says,  '  Young  man,  I  'd  loike  the  money 
fur  me  bill: 

Me  childer  has  no  shoes  to  wear,  me  rint  is  overdue. 

Pay  up,  young  man,  and  I  '11  not  be  a  troublin'  of 
you ! ' 

"  My  laundress !  my  laundress !  She  sends  a  shad 
owy  boy 

To  watch  me  mornings  while  I  sleep,  and  damp  my 
rising  joy ; 

And  when  I  wake  from  tranquil  dreams  and  inno 
cent  repose, 

That  small  gossoon  beside  my  bed  is  sitting  on  my 
clothes. 


HIS   WASHERWOMAN.  79 

He  only  says  '  Miss  Grady  'd  loike  the  money,  sor, 

to-day.' 
I,  speechless,  turn  toward  the  wall;  he,  silent,  goes 

away. 

"  I  '11  go  and  see  my  laundress,  and  speak  the 
truth  unmasked ; 

I  '11  tell  her  how  impossible  a  favor  she  has  asked ; 

I  '11  say  that  I  am  penniless,  and  if  I  put  up  spout 

As  much  of  my  effects  as  I  could  get  along  with 
out, 

The  sum  that  I  would  realize  upon  them  would 
amount 

To  only  one  poor  third  of  what  is  due  on  her  ac 
count. 

"  I  '11  say  I  sometimes  contemplate  absconding  from 
the  place, 

But  that  I  'm  not  a  scoundrel  scamp,  like  Thack 
eray's  Deuceace ; 


HIS    WA  SHER  WOMA  N. 

And  though  I  cannot  pay  her  bill,  I  will  not  run 

away ; 
And  then  I  '11  listen  patiently  to  what  she  has  to 

say. 

And  when  vituperation  has  taken  off  the  edge 
Of   her  just  wrath,  I  '11  speak,  and   thus   I  '11   put 

myself  in  pledge. 

" 1  '11  say,  '  You  have  a  daughter ;  I  know  she  is  not 

fair, 

But  never  for  mere  looks  did  I  particularly  care. 
I  often  have  remarked  her,  as,  when  the  day  was 

fine, 
She  went  with  sprightly  grace  to  hang  my  clothes 

upon  the  line ; 
And   oft   have   I   addressed   her,   and,    though   her 

speech  was  curt, 
I  learned  to  love  her,  as  she  fixed  a  clothespin  on 

my  shirt ! 


///  ,9    WA  SIIER  WOMA  N. 


81 


"  '  I  '11  cultivate  your  daughter  ;  I  '11  woo  her  with 

an  art 
That  shall  not  fail  to  quickly  make  impression  on 

her  heart ; 
And  when  her  young  affections  with  subtlety  I  've 

won, 
I  trust  that  you,  dear  madam,  will  receive  me  as 

your  son. 
The  duties   that  devolve  on  me  I  '11  never  try  to 

shirk, 
And  what  I  cannot  pay  in  cash  you  shall  receive 

in  work.' 


A     000672292     o 


